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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24079378">Nightmare</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Endeavour (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Max DeBryn, Endeavour Morse Whump, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Medically Accurate? Not really, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:02:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24079378</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Thursday knows it's going to be a bad day when DI Ronnie Box from robbery turns up with a tip an anonymous tip about a dead body. What he doesn't know is just how much of a nightmare the day will become.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>DCI Fred Thursday couldn’t quite pin down when the day had turned into a nightmare. Perhaps it had been at breakfast when he dropped jam on his freshly laundered trousers. By the time he had changed, Morse was already at the door and Thursday had not had time to finish his breakfast. Or maybe it had been when he stepped out the front door and saw that Morse had not arrived in the Jag, but in an old patrol car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jag’s in for servicing,” Morse said with a shrug and a somewhat sad look in his eye. Thursday didn’t know who he felt more sorry for. Morse, who he knew loved the Jag or himself knowing how much his back would ache after a day of driving around in that rattling excuse for a car. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or maybe the turning point had been when they had stepped into the Cowley nick to see DI Ronnie Box lounging at Morse’s desk. A quick word with Bright told them everything Thursday needed to know. Anonymous tip of a dead body out at some old farm. Might be related to a robbery case. Hence city jurisdiction. Hence Box. Thursday, Morse, Box, Strange, Fancy, and Trewlove were to go to the scene. DeBryn would meet them there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then maybe it was the call from DeBryn just as they were about to leave. Another one with car trouble. Could they possibly pick him up. They could call for the proper transportation if there actually was a body. And so Thursday, Morse, and Trewlove had stopped by the hospital to pick up DeBryn, while Box, Strange, and Fancy continued on ahead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe the nightmare had begun with the rain. Fat drops splattered down onto the patrol car’s windshield and soon they could hardly see five feet in front of them. Thursday remembered the radio weatherman warning of severe storms for that day and possibly the next. And a high potential for flooding. Morse drove carefully, but as they left the city and found old country roads the old car registered every muddy bump in the road. Thursday lamented his once pain free back. Cracks of lightning lit the sky, but he could not hear any thunder over the hammering of the rain and the howling of the wind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or it could have been the pit Thursday felt growing in his stomach as they pulled up in front of an old farmhouse. Box’s car was already parked, but he could see no sign of the DI, Strange, or Fancy. He peered through the rain trying to assess the situation. Something felt off, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe they’re inside,” Morse said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmmm,” Thursday wasn’t sure. “Maybe. But I think it’s best if the doctor stays here until we have a handle on the situation. You too, Trewlove. Man the radio.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He and Morse had left the car. Within moments the rain had soaked them through despite their coats and mud threatened to creep into their shoes as they sank into it with each step. A quick look at Box’s car was not encouraging. The tires were slashed, the radio ripped out, and as Thursday inspected the front of the car he was pretty sure he’d find internal damage if he lifted the slightly ajar hood. He gestured for Trewlove to radio the station getting a nod in return. He didn’t stay to watch her do it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From the car they moved to the house. Room by room they searched the musty crumbling building, but found no sign of their colleagues nor of the reported dead body. As they re-entered the kitchen Morse suddenly signaled for Thursday to be quiet. A low thumping was coming from somewhere below them, barely audible over the thundering rain. Glancing around, Thursday’s eyes came to rest on an upturned kitchen table. He nodded to Morse and pulled his service revolver out of his pocket. Morse quirked an eyebrow, but did as instructed and went to move the table. Before he could, a shout cut through the stale air. It had come from outside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morse glanced at Thursday once before racing towards the sound. Thursday almost followed, but the thumping beneath him suddenly became more urgent and he swore he heard some muffled voices. Revolver at the ready he shoved the table aside. A trap door flew open and the faces of Box, Strange, and Fancy burst through. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a set up,” Strange had shouted. “A trap!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then a gunshot rent the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thursday charged outside and realized he was in a nightmare.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fair warning, this is where things start to get graphic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The old patrol car was gone. Trewlove and DeBryn were huddled on the ground splattered with mud. Both were in their shirtsleeves. It took Thursday a moment to realize what they were huddled over. There was so much mud everything was blending together into a dirty brown. Then he saw red. Red spreading through a flash of white. Blood on a shirt. Blood on Morse’s shirt. </p>
<p>Fancy had already run forward to Trewlove and now Thursday saw that the two of them were holding Morse’s arms down, one to the side and one above his head, while DeBryn pressed his jacket firmly into the right side of Morse’s chest. Trewlove had her jacket wrapped around Morse’s upper right arm and Thursday could see she was trying to pull it as tight as she could.</p>
<p>A shout behind him jolted Thursday and he whipped around to see Box flinging the remains of his car radio to the ground. Then DeByrn’s voice cut through and Thursday turned back.</p>
<p>“We need to get him inside!” The doctor’s words trickled into his brain. DeByrn was staring directly at him. “Thursday! Help us get him inside!” </p>
<p>Strange was already kneeling by Morse holding his shoulders down as he squirmed in the grasp of his four colleagues. There was so much blood. </p>
<p>“Thursday!”</p>
<p>Years of memories and experience flooded through him and suddenly Thursday was able to push his shock aside. Morse was evidently in a bad way. Best to do as the doctor said and get him inside. He strode forward and between them, he and Strange lifted Morse while Trewlove and DeBryn clung to his injured arm and side. Keeping his grip was difficult as the lad was soaked through and covered in mud, but he wrapped his arms around Morse’s knees and the four of them managed to get him into what must have been the old farmhouse’s sitting room. </p>
<p>“My bag,” DeBryn said, as they carefully lowered Morse to the floor. “I need my bag. It’s still outside.” Blood was rapidly pooling on the wooden floor despite DeBryn’s and Trewlove’s best efforts to staunch the bleeding. Morse cried out as they redoubled their efforts and began to struggle even more. Thursday and Strange dropped to their knees, Thursday holding down Morse’s legs while Strange pinned his shoulders and uninjured arm.</p>
<p>“Easy there, matey,” Thursday heard Strange say, his head bending low over Morse’s. “Easy now. Got to let the good doctor do his work, yeah?”</p>
<p>Thursday wasn’t sure Morse understood him. The lad just let out another groan.</p>
<p>“My bag,” DeBryn repeated.</p>
<p>“Here, doc!” Fancy appeared by DeBryn’s side carrying the doctor’s mud splattered bag.</p>
<p>“Good,” DeByrn said. “Now I need you to take over from me here. Apply as much pressure as you can. Put all your weight behind it, alright?”</p>
<p>They switched places, the change in pressure pulling another cry out of Morse. Thursday could feel his muscles tensing beneath his hands as the lad struggled against them. Thursday saw Fancy falter, face pale.</p>
<p>“Don’t stop!” Thursday bellowed. “As much pressure as you can, Fancy!”</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ!” a voice came from behind them. Thursday looked over his shoulder to see Box standing in the doorway, dripping wet and eyes wide. Damn Box, he’d forgotten about him.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure the good lord is here with us today,” said DeBryn’s dry tone from Thursday’s other side. He turned back to see the doctor rapidly rummaging through his bag pulling out instruments and bandages. Finally, he pulled out a large pair of scissors. </p>
<p>“Now,” he said looking up at Box, “make yourself useful and come help me get his clothes off, they’re in the way.” He paused, breathing heavily and staring down at Morse. To Thursday, it felt like an eternity passed as he watched the doctor’s eye flick across the injured man on the floor.</p>
<p>“Doc?” Fancy’s tentative voice broke the silence. </p>
<p>“Yes,” DeBryn said. “Fancy, I need you to find a stick and as many blankets as you can. Oh and give me your tie.”</p>
<p>“What about his chest?” Fancy asked.</p>
<p>“Leave it for now, it’s not bleeding as much as his arm.”</p>
<p>DeBryn pulled off Morse’s tie and began cutting through Morse’s shirt. Fancy quickly did as he was told, putting his tie on the ground next to DeBryn and looking about the room muttering, “Stick. Stick.”</p>
<p>“Check the kitchen,” Trewlove said. “Maybe there’s a spoon or something.”</p>
<p>Fancy pushed past Box and disappeared into the depths of the house. Box meanwhile hadn’t moved a muscle. Thursday sighed.</p>
<p>“Oi, Box,” he shouted. “Get over here and hold his legs.” Thursday’s well practiced bellow seemed to break the other man’s shock and he staggered over to switch places with Thursday. Morse tried to struggle away in the momentary lapse in hold, but Box pinned him in place again.</p>
<p>“Easy, lad,” Thursday said. “No need for that.”</p>
<p>A choked groan was his only reply. He pulled off Morse’s shoes and socks, then began unbuckling his belt and pulling his trousers down, leaving only the lad’s pants. He looked up at DeBryn who was now cutting through Morse’s right sleeve, carefully working his way past Trewlove.</p>
<p>“Everything, Thursday,” DeBryn said, not taking his eyes off of his task. “All his clothes need to be off. He doesn’t need hypothermia on top of all this. Fancy where are those blankets!” He shouted the last sentence then handed Thursday his scissors. “Use these, it'll be easier.”</p>
<p>Thursday wasn’t so sure, but with a silent apology to Morse, he carefully cut away the lad’s underpants and gently extracted them from beneath him. Perhaps it was fortunate that the lad was too out of it to care.</p>
<p>“Fancy!” DeBryn shouted again, beginning to cut away at Morse’s other sleeve. </p>
<p>“Here!” Fancy reappeared in the doorway, arms filled with blankets. “There was a cupboard upstairs filled with these. A bit moth eaten, but -”</p>
<p>“But better than nothing,” DeBryn cut him off. “And the stick?”</p>
<p>Thursday took the blankets from the constable and immediately used one to cover Morse’s exposed lower half, giving the lad at least a little bit of decency. Fancy brandished a large wooden spoon.</p>
<p>“Excellent,” DeBryn said. “Thursday, I’m assuming you know how to tie a tourniquet?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Thursday said and took the spoon from Fancy.</p>
<p>“Good. Right arm, just above where Trewlove is holding.”</p>
<p>Morse jerked the arm and Trewlove momentarily lost her grip, revealing the full extent of the wound. There was a hole going straight through Morse’s upper arm. Blood pulsed out of it, adding to the ever growing puddle on the floor. Thursday felt it soak into his trousers as he kneeled next to Trewlove.</p>
<p>“Hold him steady,” Thursday said, pulling off his tie and tying it around Morse’s upper arm. He slotted the stick underneath and turned it. Morse screamed. Thursday ignored him and kept twisting the stick around, until finally it would turn no more and the torrent of blood had reduced to a steady trickle. </p>
<p>“Grab Fancy’s tie and tie it round here,” Thursday said to Trewlove. He held the stick as firmly as he could as she secured it in place. The blood continued to trickle out of the hole, but stayed steady. The tourniquet was secure for now.</p>
<p>DeBryn swore.</p>
<p>Thursday looked up. The doctor had finally managed to strip away the rest of Morse’s clothing, revealing the full extent of the damage. There was another hole, this time in the side of his chest. As Morse breathed, blood gurgled out of it with each exhale. Thursday listened closely and as Morse inhaled, he heard a faint sucking sound. He had seen wounds like this during the war. His stomach suddenly felt like it was filled with lead.</p>
<p>“Christ, what is that?” Box breathed.</p>
<p>“Right, right,” DeBryn was muttering, ignoring Box. He picked up some gauze from the pile on the ground beside him and reapplied pressure to the wound. “Fancy, when you searched the house did you see anything plastic? Like a tarp or something?”</p>
<p>“Ummm”</p>
<p>“There’s one down in that cellar we were trapped in,” Strange cut in. “Big blue thing.”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah,” Fancy said and dashed out the room. In a moment he was back carrying a large crumpled tarp.</p>
<p>“Good,” DeBryn said. “Now I need you to cut me a piece of that about the size of your hand.” </p>
<p>Thursday gave Fancy the scissors and he began cutting.</p>
<p>“Good, now give that to Thursday. Thursday, I’m going to put some fresh gauze on here then I need you to hold it in place while I tape it down.”</p>
<p>As soon as the doctor had replaced the gauze, Thursday took his place and held the scrap of tarp in place. DeBryn tapped it down on three sides, but left the fourth side open. He sat back on his heels, panting.</p>
<p>“Doc?” Strange said tentatively. “What happened?”</p>
<p>DeBryn pushed up his glasses, not seeming to notice or care that his hands were covered in blood. He swallowed.</p>
<p>“Two men came out of the house,” Trewlove said, giving the doctor a moment to collect himself. “They had guns. Made us get out of the car. They shouted at us, threatened to shoot us. Then Morse came running out of the house and they shot him. They took the car.”</p>
<p>“Christ,” Box said, yet again.</p>
<p>They were all silent for a minute, staring down at the injured man between them. Morse has stopped struggling and now lay almost completely still, except for his rapid breathing and the occasional tremor.</p>
<p>“We need to get him to hospital,” DeBryn broke the silence. “We need to radio for help. I can’t… I can’t fix these.” There was a quiver in his voice that Thursday had never heard before.</p>
<p>“My radio’s bust,” Box said. “Bastard’s broke it.”</p>
<p>“Were you able to get through to anyone before, Trewlove?” Thursday asked.</p>
<p>She shook her head. “The storm. It was just static.”</p>
<p>Thursday stood and leaned against the doorway, staring blankly into the hall.</p>
<p>“There must be something you can do?” Strange said.</p>
<p>DeBryn just shook his head. “The bullet must have gone through his arm and into his chest. It punctured the chest cavity, air’s getting in every time he breathes. It’s only a matter of time before his lung collapses. And he’s going into shock. He’s lost too much blood. The bullet must have hit the artery when it went through his arm. He needs surgery. He needs blood transfusions and fluids. He needs to be in a hospital.”</p>
<p>An odd reflection by the house’s front door caught Thursday’s eye. The lead in his stomach suddenly felt a thousand times heavier. It was water. Brown and mud filled, but water nonetheless. </p>
<p>“I don’t think we’re going to get him to one anytime soon,” Thursday said, turning to face them all. “The best we can do is get him upstairs. This house is about to flood.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Strange watched Thursday and Box carry Morse up the creaking staircase. His friend was limp and deathly pale in their arms, seemingly having lost the fight he’d had in him just a little while before. Shock, the doctor had explained. Jim’s gut clenched at the thought. He’d seen enough in his time to know that was not a good thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He went into the kitchen, feet sloshing in the inch or so of water that was already accumulating across the floor. He didn’t want to stay in the sitting room and watch it mix with Morse’s blood. DeBryn was in the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards and drawers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strange had never seen the doctor so ruffled before. His clothes were splattered with mud and soaked with blood. Jim could see his hands trembling as he pulled a large dusty glass bottle with a cork stopper out of a lower cabinet and added it to the small pile he was assembling on the countertop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You alright, Doc?” he asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>DeBryn gave him a grim half smile. “About as well can be expected.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim did his best to give an encouraging smile, but wasn’t sure he managed it. “What’s all this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The closest we’re going to get to a hospital it seems. Would you mind getting it upstairs?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strange grasped the doctor’s shoulder and nodded. “Will do, doc.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He carefully gathered as many of the hodgepodge of items — the large glass bottle and a couple smaller ones, a couple of large pots, a length of rubber tubing, an old canister of salt, and another one of sugar — as he could and carried them upstairs. He ran into Trewlove at the top of the stairs. She had changed out of her soaked WPC uniform into a ragged pair of trousers and a shirt that had seen better days. The trouser legs were rolled up to her knees. He raised his eyebrows and she shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re all going to have to change,” she said. “We’ll get hypothermia if we stay in our wet things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good idea, Shirl,” Jim said. “Anymore where those came from?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded to the closest door. “George is in there gathering things. Morse is at the end of the hall with Thursday. They found a room without too many leaks and a dry fireplace. Box said he was going to look for firewood. I’m going to go see if I can find a bucket for water. There’s no taps up here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I saw one down in the cellar. Trap door in the kitchen,” he added when she raised her eyebrows. “Hopefully it’s not too flooded yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shirley gave him a small smile and slipped past him. Jim walked the length of the narrow hall to the last room. Thursday was kneeling by a narrow bed that had been pulled close to the empty fireplace. Beneath a pile of blankets, Strange could just make out Morse. He was breathing rapidly, but his eyes were open and unfocused. Jim deposited his armload onto the hearth then crouched beside Thursday. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How is he?,” he murmured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A bit in and out of it,” Thursday said. His hand was resting on the side of Morse’s face, his thumb gently stroking his cheek. “Pain and blood loss will do that. What’s all that you brought up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stuff for the doc,” Jim said. “Closest thing to a hospital he said.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s got a plan?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not much of one,” came the doctor’s voice from behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strange and Thursday turned to see DeBryn enter the room, arms full of even more supplies. Jim could see that he was definitely shaking now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shirl says George has got dry clothes in the first room by the stairs,” Jim said. “You should go change, doc, you look half frozen. You too, sir.” He turned back to Thursday.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both men hesitated, glancing at Morse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go on, I’ll stay with him,” Jim said. The doctor nodded and Strange felt Thursday get to his feet beside him. He shuffled over to take the old man's place by Morse’s bedside. Morse had closed his eyes, still breathing far too fast. Strange placed his hand where Thursday’s had been on the side of Morse’s face. His skin was cold and clammy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright, matey,” Jim murmured. “You’re going to be alright.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the sound of Jim’s voice, Morse’s eyes fluttered open, glazed and unfocused. His lips moved but no sound came out. Jim hushed his friend and continued stroking his cheek. He watched a frown furrow Morse’s brow, pain etched in every line of it and he closed his eyes again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>People had long asked Jim why he bothered with Morse. Back when he had been a PC, his mates had constantly wondered why he continued to engage with prickly DC, why he would go out for drinks with him. Jim had replied simply that Morse wasn’t as bad as he seemed once you got to know him. Just a bit of an awkward sod really. They had scoffed and left it at that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then this past year when he and Morse had begun sharing a flat, the questions had become a deluge. <em>Are you really living with him? What’s it like? Oh that sounds like an absolute nightmare! What were you thinking?</em> But Jim had shrugged them off, repeating his answers. Sure living with Morse had its challenges, but none that Jim hadn’t been prepared for. If anything he was pretty sure it was more of a nightmare for Morse to live with him than it was for him to live with Morse. But they rubbed along fine both knowing that at the end of it they’d be financially better off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now Jim had a creeping feeling that he might just lose his friend. As he watched Morse’s eyes flicker under his eyelids and the rapid, shallow rise and fall of his chest, as he felt the cold chill settling into the skin beneath his fingers, Jim felt like he was trapped in a nightmare. He couldn’t fathom the idea of a world without Morse, of an Oxford without Morse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jim’s thoughts were interrupted by Box thundering into the room, arms full of what looked like chopped up wooden furniture. He crouched by the fireplace and began building a fire. The loud sound caused Morse to stir. A cry of pain escaped his lips as he tried to move. Jim immediately grabbed hold of him, keeping him in place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Easy, matey. You’re alright.” Jim wasn’t sure Morse could understand him, but his steady voice seemed to settle him and he stopped squirming in Strange’s grip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morse’s cry of pain brought DeBryn and Thursday back into the room and Jim moved out of the way to let them tend to him. Heat began to permeate the room as Box got the fire going. For the first time he realized how cold he was, still in his rain soaked clothes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You two had best get into something dry as well,” DeBryn said, glancing briefly at Box and Strange. He had his fingers on Morse’s wrist and his eyes quickly returned to his watch so he could take his pulse. Thursday was kneeling by Morse’s head again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we should get as much dry wood up here as we can first,” Box said, straightening up from his kneeling position by the hearth. “Water’s not too high yet, might as well get what we can while it’s still usable.” Strange nodded and the two of them went back downstairs, pausing only to let Trewlove pass as she carried two water filled buckets up the stairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water was up to Jim’s ankles now and he briefly lamented his favorite pair of shoes. Box had evidently found an ax somewhere and between the two of them, they were able to chop up a fair amount of wooden furniture, doing their best to keep it out of the steadily rising water. Fancy appeared, now also dressed in moth eaten but dry clothes, and carried bundles of wood up the stairs. By the time Strange and Box were done chopping wood and had changed into dry clothes, the rest of the group was gathered in the small firelit bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shirley was by the fire, carefully hanging a pot of water to boil on a metal railing running along the top of the fireplace. George was sitting on the floor, cutting one of the raggedy blankets into small strips. Thursday was helping DeBryn reposition Morse onto his left side in the bed. They had stripped away many of the blankets, revealing the fresh blood that was still leaking from his wounds. Morse was letting out small cries of pain as they moved him, but seemed too weak to resist. When they had him in position, DeBryn pressed his ear to Morse’s chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To Jim it seemed as if the whole group was holding their breath. The room was dead quiet apart from the crackling flames and Morse’s ragged breathing. Finally, DeBryn pulled away and sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” he said after a moment. “The good news is that his lung doesn’t seem to have collapsed. Yet. The bad news is that he’s in shock and there’s not much point in me addressing his injuries any further unless we can fix that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do we need to do?” Thursday asked. His voice was steady, but Jim wasn’t sure he’d ever heard it sound quite so small.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He needs blood and fluids,” DeBryn said. “Fluids I can give him, it’s the blood that’s the tricky part.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can any of us give it to him?” Jim asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>DeBryn grimaced. “That’s our only option I’m afraid. I can probably rig something up with what little I have in my bag, but we need someone with the same or at least a compatible blood type.” He turned to Thursday. “You wouldn’t happen to know his blood type would you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thursday shook his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m O negative,” George chimed in. DeBryn’s head whipped towards him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” George said. “The docs are always on at me to donate blood. Something about being a universal donor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>DeBryn closed his eyes and said “Good. Good. That’s excellent. That’s… well… given the circumstances that’s remarkable actually.” He began rummaging in his bag, pulling out some needles and a long thin plastic tube among other things. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay so we’ve got blood,” Thursday said. “And you said you could give him fluids? What? Do we need to make him drink or something? I’m not sure he’s up to that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>DeBryn shook his head. “No, no, we can’t let him drink. That runs the risk engaging his digestive system and pulling blood away from where it’s needed. If he were in hospital he’d get it intravenously like the blood. But we’re limited here on what we can do just based on equipment and the availability of clean water.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then what are we going to do?” Strange asked. He had alway liked the doctor, for the most part, and he understood that he was trying to be thorough in his explanations, but Jim couldn’t help but be annoyed by his round about way of explaining things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>DeBryn held up the length of rubber tubing. “Something Morse is really not going to like.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: Somewhat awkward medical procedure ahead</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Thursday watched DeBryn cut the long length of tubing in half. The doctor was right, Morse really was not going to like what they were about to do to him. But if it would help keep him alive until they could get him proper help, Thursday was willing to put his bagman through just about anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trewlove used a small folded blanket to remove the boiling pot of water from above the fire and with Fancy’s help managed to carefully pour some into the collection of small glass bottles Strange had brought upstairs. DeBryn had already added a small amount of salt and sugar to the bottles. “Better for rehydration,” he had said. DeBryn took one of the bottles, fed one end of the rubber tubing in it, and used some tape to create a seal. Holding one end of the tubing aloft, the doctor turned the bottle upside down. The seal held and the doctor turned it right side up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thursday realized he had been holding his breath while he watched the doctor. He let it out, relieved that at least this part of the plan was going to work. DeBryn gave him a grim half smile, commiserating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” the doctor said, placing the bottle and tube next to Morse’s bed. “We’ll let that cool a bit and then set to.” He paused a moment to clean his glasses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now,” he continued, “I don’t want anyone” — and at this moment he stared pointedly at Thursday and Fred knew the doctor was directly talking to him — “to get their hopes up. I don’t know if this is going to work. It may very well be too little too late. When we’re done, all we can do is watch and wait.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fred nodded. He didn’t like it, but it was out of his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>DeBryn narrowed his eyes, assessing, then returned Thursday’s nod. “Alright,” he said. “Thursday, Strange, you stay with me. The rest of you can get out. Fancy we’ll call you in when we’re ready for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re kicking us out?” Box said, crossing his arms. “The bloody fire’s in here you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” DeBryn said, ice in his voice. “And we also have an unstable patient here who deserves some privacy and whom I know is unlikely to cooperate especially with so many people in the room. So get out! You can last ten minutes without a fire.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Box glared back, but eventually stalked out the room. Trewlove and Fancy followed with no complaint, glancing back at Morse as they left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>DeBryn sighed, suddenly looking very tired. “See if you can rouse him a bit, Thursday. This will be easier if he cooperates. But I’m undoubtedly going to need both of you to keep him still.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thursday hadn’t moved from his kneeling position by the top of the bed. He could see DeBryn and Strange moving around the end of the bed, getting themselves into position, but Thursday ignored them focusing entirely on the wounded lad before him. Morse’s eyes were closed and at first he did not respond to Thursday’s attempts to rouse him. Fred started quietly, gently saying Morse’s name and stroking his cheek. When that didn’t work he tapped the boy’s cheek a few times, saying his name a little louder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morse? Morse, I need you to wake up now, lad. Morse?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morse’s eyes fluttered open, but didn’t focus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good lad,” Thursday said, going back to stroking Morse’s cheek. “Can you hear me, lad? Morse?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, Morse’s eyes locked on Fred’s. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but a low groan was all that came out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, lad,” Thursday said. “I know. I need you to listen to me know, alright? Dr. DeBryn is going to do something to help you. It’s not going to be comfortable, but we need you to stay still. Can you do that, lad?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morse just blinked at him, clearly not comprehending Thursday’s words. Thursday looked over Morse at DeBryn, who was now holding the free end of the rubber tube at the ready. He shook his head. The doctor’s expression was grim.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was worth a try,” said DeBryn. “Just keep him still and try to keep him calm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thursday returned his attention to Morse. “You look at me, alright Morse? Just look at me. Everything’s going to be just fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From the corner of his eye he saw DeBryn remove the blanket covering Morse’s lower half. Strange moved into position on the same side as Thursday, placing one hand on Morse’s exposed hip and his other arm across the lad’s legs. DeBryn was covering the end of the tube in some cream. Antiseptic, Thursday guessed. Probably from his medical bag. Thursday moved his grip from Morse’s face to his shoulder, mindful not to disturb the tourniquet or place undue pressure on his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, Morse?” DeBryn said. “You’re going to feel a bit of pressure, but I need you to stay still. You need fluids and I’m afraid the best way we can do that is rectally. I am sorry about this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thursday watched Morse furrow his brow at being addressed by an unseen voice, but his lack of further reaction convinced Thursday that the lad hadn’t understood the doctor’s meaning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ready?” DeBryn asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thursday and Strange nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thursday didn’t watch. He focused entirely on Morse’s face, watching for any changes that would signal how the lad would react. He heard DeBryn count down from three and then Morse’s eyes went wide, a strangled cry escaping him. His muscles tensed under Thursday’s grip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep him steady,” DeBryn said. “Thursday, see if you can keep him calm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morse? Focus on me now, lad. You focus on me. It’ll be over soon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morse’s eyes found Thursday’s again and Fred could see panic in them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nooo,” the boy choked out followed by a sob. It was the first coherent word Fred had heard Morse say since the nightmare began, but it made his heart ache more that it lifted it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, lad. I know. You’re going to be fine. It’ll all be over soon.” Thursday continued his steady stream of comforting words and eventually Morse screwed his eyes shut, though Thursday could still feel him weakly struggling against them. After what felt like an eternity, he heard the doctor sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright let’s get him covered up again,” DeBryn said. “Strange, go get Fancy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thursday turned his head and watched DeBryn drape a few blankets over Morse’s lower half. This seemed to calm the lad somewhat. Thursday felt his muscles relax slightly under his grip although the pained frown remained on his face. The doctor then took some of the blanket strips Fancy had cut and fashioned a sling to hold the glass bottle upside down on the bed’s footboard, keeping the bottle slightly elevated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gravity will do all the work from here,” DeBryn said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A shudder ran through Morse as he no doubt felt the fluids enter him. Thursday stroked the lad’s hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How does that work again?” Fancy asked as he followed Strange back into the room. Trewlove and Box came back in as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His gut will slowly absorb the water,” DeBryn said. He had moved over to the hearth and was washing his hands with a scrap of blanket soaked from the water bucket. “It won’t be as fast as if he got his fluids intravenously, but given the current circumstances it’ll have to be enough. Now Fancy, roll up your sleeve if you would be so kind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>DeBryn positioned Fancy in a chair (one of the few wooden ones to escape Box’s ax) next to where Thursday was kneeling. Soon there was a bright red line connecting Fancy’s arms to Morse’s. Morse had watched them move around him with sightless eyes, grimacing when DeBryn placed the needle in his vein, but not putting up any fight. Thursday could only watch and wait as time ticked by, hoping that what they had done would be enough.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks again for reading! Thoughts? Comments? Questions?</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Something I'm working on. Hoping to write a short chapter every night. Hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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